


A match made in heaven (pun intended)

by sleepymoon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Misunderstandings, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 13:52:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5377625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepymoon/pseuds/sleepymoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, on the other hand, has always been a bit of a special case. Up until he got to the ripe age of twenty-nine, no one had ever managed to figure out what linguistic system the scribble on his chest belonged to, much less translate it into something coherent. After years spent searching through all available sources, even the most obscure lore, neither he nor his family had come up with anything remotely useful.<br/><br/>Dean used to think it would have been better to be born without anything at all. Because <i>this</i> – this weird swirl of symbols that didn't seem to have a freaking meaning in any language known to man – well, it just felt like a cruel joke.</p>
<p>Destiny hated him, apparently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A match made in heaven (pun intended)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [VeraBAdler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeraBAdler). (Thank you! ♡)

 

On January 24th, the day of Dean's thirty-sixth birthday, Castiel is out on a quick grocery run to collect the ingredients for the apple pie he's planning to surprise Dean with. He's somewhat miraculously managed to find everything he needs without any incidents, and is now busy loading three heavy shopping bags into the trunk of his old Continental. When he's done, he gently slams the trunk shut; he's about to walk around to the driver's seat when a shop's glittering sign catches his eye.

Apple pie momentarily forgotten, Castiel steps into the fancy-looking tattoo parlor. A pink-haired girl with a lot of piercings sits on the stool behind the counter, flipping through a fashion magazine and looking quite bored. She glances up at his entrance, smiling warmly in welcome.

Castiel spends a few seconds fishing something out of his pockets and finally slips a small piece of paper towards her, two words written on it in a neat flowing cursive. She takes a moment to read it and then nods, directing him toward a chair in the back of the shop.

“Okay, so. Where do you want this?” she asks.

“Right here,” Castiel says, pointing towards his heart.

*****

 

It's the way the world goes, since the very beginning of time: People are born with their soulmate's name written on their chest, right above the heart.

The lucky ones, a small minority in the population, meet their soulmates in the very first years of their life.

Some even get to share their entire childhood with them. Most people, though, find their match later in life.

Some find their one by sheer chance, but others are less content to wait around and seek the help of experts instead. Agencies who specialize in finding and connecting soulmates are, after all, an ever-flourishing business in this day and age. Nevertheless, many choose not to conform to what destiny supposedly has planned for them, and pursue their paths in life without much thought about finding _their one._

There are those who get more than a single name, the second coming to replace the first once the person it belonged to has passed away.

And then, as the exception that proves the rule, there are those who are born without a name, and simply never get one.

*****

 

Sam was born with Jessica Moore's name. He still has it on his chest, a little faded now.

He dreads the day when another name will emerge through his skin to take its place, but he dreads even more the day when he'll wake up and it'll be gone, with nothing there to fill the blank.

Jimmy Novak was born with Amelia's name. And after his death, when Castiel's vessel was made anew, the name was gone.

 

Dean, on the other hand, has always been a bit of a special case. Up until he got to the ripe age of twenty-nine, no one had ever managed to figure out what linguistic system the scribble on his chest belonged to, much less translate it into something coherent. After years spent searching through all available sources, even the most obscure lore, neither he nor his family had come up with anything remotely useful.

Dean used to think it would have been better to be born without anything at all. Because _this_ – this weird swirl of symbols that didn't seem to have a freaking meaning in any language known to man – well, it just felt like a cruel joke. Destiny hated him, apparently.

But one night in an old, isolated barn in Pontiac, Illinois, Dean had stabbed a blue-eyed stranger in the chest and he'd seen black wings surge and expand from his back, reflected against the walls between sudden strikes of lightning.

_I'm an angel of the Lord,_ the man had said. And then: _You don't think you deserve to be saved?_

Things had started to make a little more sense after that.

*****

 

 

Castiel isn't exactly a fan of being human (or as close to human as he can get, anyway).

It's laundry day in the bunker, and Castiel is in charge of the whole operation. He collects the dirty clothes from the basket, then glances down at himself, taking in his rumpled t-shirt and quickly shrugging out of it. He isn't thinking too clearly about the risks of doing such a thing when not behind the privacy of a closed door, and he doesn't even hear Dean's footsteps approaching from down the hall.

And that's why, when Dean peeks his head into the room to ask what he'd like for dinner (“It's either burgers or pizza, don't be picky!”), Castiel isn't thinking _at all,_ because he turns around to face Dean, shirtless, having completely forgotten about his recently healed tattoo.

Dean's eyes widen a little when he realizes that Castiel isn't wearing a shirt. He almost drops his gaze to the floor, getting a bit pink around the ears, but then seems to think better of it and his gaze runs over Castiel's abs unsubtly, trailing up, up, until he reaches his pectorals... and that's when he does a double take.

Dean narrows his eyes, his expression shutting down so fast that Castiel is left reeling in the wake of it.

“What the fuck is that?” Dean snaps, marching fully into the laundry room. He looks so angry, so righteously furious, that Castiel almost believes he's going to attack - punch him in the face, at the very least.

“Dean...” the former angel starts, with every intention of explaining. But any words, any apology seem to dry on his tongue, and he struggles with finding a way to placate his friend. “Please, Dean... I can explain...”

“ _Oh?_ You can _explain?”_ Dean parrots back at him, a cruel edge to his voice. “Is that so? I'm all ears then, Cas! Come on, try to _explain_ to me how is it that the guy who's supposed to be my fucking _soulmate,_ the same guy who rejected me without a thought seven years ago, is now sporting _my_ name on his chest! Like this is all a bit of a joke! Is it, Cas? Is this all a joke to you?!”

“You...” Castiel can barely find his voice. He has to whisper, “Dean, _you knew?”_

Dean scoffs in response, shaking his head in utter disbelief.

“Of course I fucking knew, Cas! What, you honestly thought I'd just take your word for it? Settle for a crappy, emotionless _It doesn't mean anything?_ Shit, Cas, come on, give me some credit! Of course I kept looking for answers. I asked Anna, and Balthazar, even Gabriel! And guess what? They all told me the same thing!” Dean finally looks away, the flush on his face getting deeper and angrier. “It's your name, Cas,” he murmurs, sounding defeated. “Your weird, unpronounceable, Enochian name. I've known it for years.”

Castiel swallows audibly around the bile rising in his throat.

“But if you knew, why didn't you ever say something?”

“What for? You lied to me 'cause you didn't want to be bothered with such petty human things as soul bonds or whatever. I get it, honestly. You didn't think I'd be worth tying yourself down to. You were right, can't blame you for it.” Dean levels him with a scrutinizing look. He roughly taps his forefinger against the former angel's bare chest, right on the tattoo – the delicate, beloved swirl of Dean Winchester's name. “So, come on, then. Explain _this.”_

Castiel feels on the verge of hysterical tears, or laughter, he doesn't know. He covers his face with both hands, drawing in a shaky, painful breath, trying to recompose himself, calm the mess of thoughts in his head.

“Dean, _no_... how can you say... how can you think such things...?” he says, finally meeting the hunter's eyes again, “You've never been more wrong about anything in your life... You are worth _everything_ to me, Dean.”

Castiel takes a step closer to him. He wants to reach for Dean's hand but stops the gesture mid-air, frowning. He continues, his voice softer, “The first time we met, you didn't even like me or want me around. In fact, you only started tolerating my presence many months after our first encounter. When you... when you asked me about your mark, I told you what I thought would be best for you. You were my charge at the time. I didn't want to upset you because we had a mission to think about. And then... when you slept with Anna, I decided not to say anything, for you seemed to care for her. Since then, I have considered telling you many times. But I know... I know I'm in the wrong vessel. I know you aren't attracted to men... Dean, I didn't want you to _hate_ me.”

Dean is about to protest, but Castiel doesn't let him interrupt. He's afraid if he stops now he'll lose the courage.

“You wanted me to explain. I will do just that,” he adds, straightening up, his tone turning more solemn. “I used to be an angel, Dean. We don't have soulmates, because we don't have souls. But please know this: I love you and I chose you. You are mine to cherish and protect. This tattoo is a simple reminder. Not that I needed it, of course. I carry you in my heart already... but getting it... it felt right.”

It's Dean's turn to be left speechless. He stares, blinking rapidly, trying to bite back the tears.  
“God, Cas... who knew you could be such a fucking sap...” he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes with a wet-sounding chuckle.

Castiel drops his gaze, only then realizing that he's still holding his shirt in his left hand. “So... you don't mind?” he asks, an edge of fearful hope in his voice.

Dean cracks a tiny, bemused smile at that.

“Are you asking me if I mind that you love me?”

“I guess I am.”

“Well, I don't.”

Castiel perks up, widening his eyes.

“...Really?” he whispers.

Dean sighs.

“I don't think you actually get how this whole soulmates thing works, buddy, because it's kind of meant to be, you know? I mean, yeah, some people feel icky about it and kind of refuse the whole idea on principle, but... it's a little hard not to fall in love with someone when they're _it_ for you. Which you are, for me. The other half of the apple, the missing puzzle piece, you know, all that jazz...”

“Oh,” Castiel breathes, suddenly feeling unsteady on his feet, and he sways where he stands for a second. “...Okay.”

Dean snorts, rolling his eyes in exasperation. And yet he's still smiling.

“ _Okay,”_ he mouths, making a silly face at the ceiling.

Castiel knows he's being mocked, but he can't bring himself to feel bad about it, not when Dean loves him back. Wants him back. Because that is what's happening, isn't it?

“Oh, and for the record, that thing you said about me not being attracted to men... well, you're wrong. It's not like I broadcast it, but, uh... I mean. I am. Attracted. To men and women, generally. And... uh, you, specifically. Very specifically. Come on, it's been years, Cas, _years!”_

“You... mean it? You really mean it?” Castiel feels close to babbling and he shuts his mouth with a click. The corners of his eyes feel damp all of a sudden and he realizes he's crying.

Dean closes the distance between them. He circles Castiel's face with both hands, splaying his fingers against his jaw and neck, tilting his head back so he can kiss him on his wet cheek. Castiel gasps, rough and surprised, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

Dean draws back and his eyes are gentle and soft.

“I really, really fucking mean it, Cas,” he murmurs, and kisses him.

*****

 

Sam finds them a long while later, still in the laundry room. Dean is sitting on top of the washing machine and Castiel is standing in the V of his legs. Dean's arms are wound tightly around his neck, fingers curled into his hair, cradling the other man like he's something incredibly precious. They're pressed chest to chest, and Castiel is naked from the waist up.

He can't see Castiel's face because he's turned, but he hears the deep rumble of his voice murmuring what seems to be a heartfelt declaration of intent right into Dean's breathing space, while his brother seems to be going a little cross-eyed as he keeps staring at Cas, his expression one of careful, blossoming wonder, his bottom lip slackened in awe.

Sam considers, just for a second, leaving them to it. But no, the temptation to tease his big brother is way too strong to resist.

“Doing the laundry, huh? Is that what the kids are calling it these days? Good to know.”

It startles them both, predictably.

A very red-faced Dean picks a dirty flannel from the basket, balls it up, and throws it at Sam's head. Sam's too busy laughing at their mortified expressions to duck properly.

“Get lost, Sammy!”

*****

 

 

 

A few weeks later, on their way to take care of what looks like a simple salt and burn case, the three of them stop at a diner for lunch. Sitting in their booth and perusing the menus as they wait for Sam to come back from the bathroom, Dean notices that Castiel seems to be a little fidgety. He's fiddling with his silverware and chewing on his bottom lip, darting a glance in Dean's direction every few seconds.

“Something on your mind?” Dean asks.

“Yes, I've been thinking...” Castiel says, hesitating. “I'd like to get another tattoo.”

“Yeah? What would you wanna get?”

“You're going to laugh at me...”

“What? No, man, I won't! I promise. Come on, tell me.”

Castiel glances at him from under his eyelashes, quickly looking away again. “… a bee,” he says in a small voice.

Dean tries very hard to restrain himself, but he ends up laughing even harder.

“Dean!” Castiel hisses, offended. “I knew I shouldn't have told you...” he mutters to the table.

“Hey, hey, no, I'm sorry,” Dean says, still chuckling a little, reaching out to take Castiel's hand in his own. “Babe, sorry. Really. It's just... it's cute. I think it'd be cute. And you're cute, so it'd work. Actually, if there's anyone who'd be able to rock a bee tattoo, it'd be you.”

Castiel looks at him skeptically. “Do you really think that?”

“'Course I do. Tell you what, when you decide to go do it, I'll come with you. There's a little project of my own I'd like to get under my belt.”

“Oh?” Castiel says, surprised. “What is it?”

Dean reaches one-handed in the breast pocket of his jacket, takes out his wallet and flips it open on the table. He plucks a small piece of paper out of one of the folders and slides it towards his boyfriend. _Castiel,_ it says, in Cas' own crabbed cursive. He has no idea where Dean even found it.

“But...” the former angel starts, throwing Dean a cautious smile. “Dean, you already have a soul mark with my name.”

The hunter shrugs, unperturbed.

“Yeah, I do. But that one was fate,” he replies, pointing towards his chest. “This one is just like yours,” he says, nodding towards the paper and slowly threading his fingers into Cas' until their hands are locked together. “It's choice.”

 


End file.
